“Oh, you're asking me too many questions about it!” cried Bordenave, whom a score of men were besieging with their queries. “You're going to see her, and I'm off; they want me.”
He disappeared, enchanted at having fired his public. Mignon shrugged his shoulders, reminding Steiner that Rose was awaiting him in order to show him the costume she was about to wear in the first act.
“By Jove! There's Lucy out there, getting down from her carriage,” said La Faloise to Fauchery.
It was, in fact, Lucy Stewart, a plain little woman, some forty years old, with a disproportionately long neck, a thin, drawn face, a heavy mouth, but withal of such brightness, such graciousness of manner, that she was really very charming. She was bringing with her Caroline Hequet and her mother—Caroline a woman of a
